Arguing
by ofb29
Summary: WS. relationships evolve...but to what? (final parts added)
1. arguing

Ever wondered why, when you want to say something, the words just won't come out? You get angry at something, you want to shout and scream at them; make them understand what you're so mad at them for. Of course, the words don't come though. An hour later, when the situation's defused, and the arguments all forgotten, you remember exactly what it was you wanted to say. Can plan the speech word for word, every nuance, every slight inflection on every word. You can make it word perfect in your head. But of course, it's too late by then. The time's past, the moment's gone. You're left looking pathetic and nursing your pride.

Or is it just me? She makes me so mad sometimes. And before you ask, it's not just work related. Although, yes, I will admit that we do argue about work. A lot. But it's not the only thing. Honest. For example, we argue about…our relationship. Hey, I'm serious. We argue a lot about our relationship. Mainly about where it's headed. You see, unlike every chick lit book written, I don't have a problem with commitment. She does. Not surprised, are you? She's not exactly hard to read. Career minded, fiercely independent, won't admit that sometimes, just sometimes, she needs a little looking after, too. Oh no. That's far too much to actually say, to admit to. Can't be seen as being weak. Has to be the strong one. Always. Don't want to be seen as being needy, as possibly needing something from me. 

Ok, I have a little issue with it. But I have every right to be. You don't believe me? How many relationships have you had that have lasted longer than a month [you answered too quickly, I haven't finished the question yet] with no one knowing about it? She liked the secret. And, yeah, at times it could be exciting. But having to think up excuses all the time for simple things to cover your tracks. Having to lie to friends. Having to take two cars home because of the fear of being seen. It gets old, fast. Ok, so maybe a month's not long. And she did tell them in the end. We told them in the end. Ok, ok, I told them and made her deal with it. That's not the point. Getting back. Guess how long we've been together. And yes, smart-ass, it's longer than a month. A year, three months and twenty-two days (what? I have a calendar sat in front of me) Wanna know how many times she's stayed the night (or day, depending on who's on a shift)? Never. Not once. Wanna know how many times we've slept at hers? You got it- never. The only time I've been to her place is when I'm picking her up.

I could go on, but I think you get the point- she has a problem with commitment. Told you we argued about something other than work. And boy, can we argue. Unfortunately, unlike me, she has no problems getting her words out, or saying exactly what's on her mind. Or with storming out. And no, that's not why she's never stayed the night. We don't argue all the time. It just feels like it sometimes. 

Her solution? When I asked her why we had to argue about everything, she said I should stop reading so much into things and stop bugging her with questions that she didn't have the answer to. And then she stormed out.

Tonight, however, things are gonna change. You see, I have a plan. Neither of us are working. Catherine's promised to keep Gris on a leash and not get any ideas about calling either of us unless it's an absolute emergency. Tonight everything is gonna change. Tonight, is decision night.

Duh duh duh.

Sorry, couldn't resist. 

Anyway, I'm preparing everything so that it's perfect. She's due to come over at eight. Which means she could be here any time from seven onwards. She can't be even the suggestion of late to anything.

Nicky's just dropped round some flowers I asked him to pick up for me. White long stem lilies. Even he commented on the smells wafting from the kitchen. Thank you Gamma for teaching me how to cook. I've borrowed (or stolen) the recipe from her.

I don't have a dining room, it's basically lounge, kitchen, bedroom and bathroom, so I've set up the lounge for dinner. You know, soft music, candles ready to be lit (I made the mistake once of lighting the candles too early, and got plunged into darkness halfway through the main course). A low table takes up the centre of the room, surrounded by throw cushions. This is half because I don't have a proper dining table, and half because it's so relaxed and intimate eating that way. All right, if I'm honest, I haven't brought the former because of the latter. It's so much easier if you don't actually have to move anywhere to round out the evening. It's surprisingly comfortable.

The room's perfect. I look…well; I've done my best. I smell of her favourite aftershave. I'm dressed casual in shirt and trousers. If I'm really lucky she'll be wearing a dress. I know, I was as surprised as you that she actually owns one. And I'd been going out with her for getting onto six months when she chose to wear one. I had to take a picture once to prove it to Nick. Lets just say, that argument was entirely one sided, and it wasn't till I pointed out how damn sexy she looked; that I had wanted to show her off that she had softened slightly. That argument I won, mainly because you can't argue real well when someone's showing you how sexy you are. And boy is she sexy.

It's all set up. And it's only half five. Umm. Oops. Guess I got a bit carried away. The next few hours, I while away doing stupid chores, flicking through the TV channels. When the doorbell finally went at half seven, I was just finally settling into an animal show on Discovery.

She looked drop dead gorgeous. That's the truth. I see her at work, I've seen her in bed, and she still takes my breath away. And she was wearing a dress, a new one by the look of it, backless summery print dress that floated around her body. I think I'm staring. Yep, I'm staring.

She chuckles, kissing me lightly on the chin. She won't take me serious when I tell her she's stunning, but at least she's stopped that annoying habit of correcting me. Now she just accepts that I like looking at her, and even gives me a twirl. 'Hey.' She says. 'Wow, this place looks great, and you.' She cocked her head to one side as if appraising me, 'look gorgeous as ever.'

I told her she was stunning. And I liked the dress. 'Just as long as Nick doesn't end up with prints of this one.' She joked. At least I think she was joking. With her it was sometimes hard to tell.

'Something smells good.' She said as we walked through. She knows I can cook now. I know she can't. See, we're meant to be together. She looks back at me, waiting to hear what it is. Just stir fry. She doesn't believe me. It's my special stir fry but I don't tell her that.

We do the news of the day thing, get drinks, I finish dinner. We eat. It's all relaxed and intimate. I remember to light the candles half way through. And you didn't believe that we could sit down and not argue, did you? Admit it.

We're just settling back against one of the sofas, letting dinner settle, when I remember the plan. I'd got so caught up in being with her I'd totally forgotten the reason for being here tonight wasn't just to be with her. Well, it was. But.

I took a deep breath, and it was almost as if the air changed. She knows me well. She was sitting up and looking round at me before I'd even had the chance to utter a word.

Now seemed as good as time as any. And if all else failed, there were enough cushions scattered that I could take her half way to forgetting anything.

'I want us to move in together.' Stalling doesn't work. Stalling doesn't rub with her. If you've got something to say, she'd much rather you just say it. She does.

'Why?' She asks bewildered. And that's what I'm talking about. She just doesn't get the whole commitment thing.

'Because…I want to wake up in the morning with you. I want to eat breakfast with you, share a paper with you. Do everyday things like shopping and washing and I don't know gardening with you.'

'You don't have a garden.'

'That's not the point; I want to do all the normal, everyday stuff with you. I want to have you around all the time.'

Ever see a fish tread water? I would imagine it would look something like Sara right now. You see, in her natural environment she's strong, she's sassy, she's got a reply for everything. But even hint about taking that away and she starts panicking. Hence the fish gag.

I grab her hands, mostly so she doesn't get any ideas of bolting at anytime. 'I want us to get our own place, somewhere to share, that's ours.'

I give her a moment for this to sink in, not wanting to completely overwhelm her.

'Sara, we've been together over a year and you still haven't stayed till the morning. I hate having you leave in the middle of the night. I hate you just leaving, really.'

'You want us to live together.' She seemed to be struggling with the facts here.

'Yes.' I answered patiently. I could be as patient as anything at this moment.

'You want us to find our own place, together.'

Her degree wasn't in English Language, was it?

Her brain finally seemed to be catching up with us, as I could see her expression changing. 'Why does it have to change? I thought we were in a good place.'

This is a dangerous question. If I answer in anything but the positive to that, then she'll think I'm saying our relationship is bad. But damnit, I'm not in a good place. I want to see her in the morning, morning breath as well.

'No.'

'No?'

I had to get in quickly before the fireworks started. 'I want more from our relationship.'

She looked at me then, really seriously. There was gonna be no backing out of this conversation now. I don't think even sex would get her mind off it totally.

'More?'

'Yes.' I answer simply.

'What if I don't?'

I go to shrug, but it's a futile gesture, doesn't mean anything.

'Then you don't. But I don't know how much longer I can go on. We see each other at work. We go out on dates. But I don't want it to seem we only see each other when it's prearranged- I want to just be with you, just because.'

'Because, what?'

'I love you, Sara. You know that. I want a relationship with you, I want to share my life with you. And I know that scares you- I know you're about to disagree, but just think about it. I'm not doing this to scare you. I want to be with you.'

'You're not having fun anymore?'

She's trying to get me to say that I don't like this relationship. We've been down this path so many times I know exactly what strategies she's going to employ.

'This isn't about having fun. This is about you and me. Together.' The only difference tonight is that I'm not going to let her get away with saying that why change the relationship when it's going so well. And it is. I love being with her. Is it so wrong to want more from her?

'I can't keep having this same argument with you.' I added.

I'm treading on very dangerous ground here. I can just imagine Nick shaking his head as I tell him why Sara and I are no longer a couple. It's not a pretty thought.

She still hasn't said anything. She's either thinking very hard or she's wondering how to leave without fireworks.

So I jump in. I've ventured in this far. But it's like paddling around in the kid's pool in your shorts with the water just up to your knees. I was always the jumping in the deep end kind of guy. So I leap. Boy do I leap. 

'I know you could quite happily carry on as we were. And so could I. For a time. But there's always gonna be a part of me that wants more, and if you don't want that, then I don't know how much of a future we can have. I know you're independent, you want your own life. But living together doesn't mean giving up your life, it just means sharing it with me, and I don't see why that can be so bad.'

'I'll stay over.' She finally said. Like it was a big move, the winning move. And any other day it might have been. I might have been happy with it. It was progress.

'No.' It's not what I want anymore.

'No?' She questions all confused.

I like the way she looks when she's confused. She's got this small crease that appears just above her right eye. Her eyes scrunch up. And I just want to kiss her and move on to more fun things. Contrary to popular belief I don't like arguing with her. That much. Not that this is an argument. Yet. But it's like a storm. That eerie silence you get just before darkness falls and the clouds open and you're soaked before you even think of getting inside. But I press on. I'm going for gold tonight.

'No. I want you. I want all of you, to know all of you. And while we keep insisting on maintaining separate lives I'm never gonna know you completely. I want you to trust me, to need me as much as I need you. I want you to trust me to be there without having this safety net, this other life you can retreat back into. I want us to live together.'

There you go. I've said it. I've refused the first offer, and haggled more. I'm going for everything. I think our relationship deserves that.

Now I just have to wait. And this is the tricky bit. See, Sara has the perfect poker face. In fact, we've played poker. Strip poker if you have to know. (she wouldn't bet for money for some reason.) And her face doesn't give anything away. Not that that was why I ended up in boxers first. I just wanted to get as many clothes removed to make it quicker when the game finished for us to have sex. For some reason, Sara didn't believe me when I told her that. Of course, she didn't argue the point that much. Could be something to do with what I was doing with my tongue at that point. I am _multi_ talented.

So anyway, I'm sitting here, watching her. And I have no clue what she's thinking. Normally this doesn't bother me. I can sit and watch her for hours. Today it's different. Today my heart is on the line. Today I want her not to have to think. 'Sara.' She meets my look, finally. 'Tell me what you're thinking.'

'I'm thinking that I love you.'

Normally I love it when she says that. But in this type of conversation it's normally not good. Because in this type of conversations it's normally followed by but…

'But?' Of course I jump in, getting ready to argue, feeling the heat, the anger, the passion. The hurt, the pain.

'No but.' She whispered softly, defeating all the anger in a heartbeat. 'Just I love you.'

Now I'm the one confused. 'What's the catch?' I ask suspiciously.

'I used to like having my own apartment. To know I could have that to get back to. But lately I've been feeling lonely there.'

I go to ask why she didn't say anything but she carries on, answering my question before I ask it. 'I didn't say anything because I didn't know how to. I…I was scared that you wouldn't want to live with me. I know you want me to stay the night. I just never realised till now that you wanted me to stay every night.'

Wow. Sara just admitted she was scared. I think I must have died and gone to heaven.

'Of course I wanted you to stay.' I say incredulous that she could think I didn't.

'Hum. We're a right pair aren't we?' She asks jokingly, her fingers, out of mine, doing a slow walk up my chest. I think about what is about to come and get brain freeze. 'Do you know how much I love you right now?' She asks rhetorically. At least I hope it was rhetorical. My brains still stuck in go slow.

Then four words fall from my lips that were totally unplanned. I put it down to getting everything without that much of a fight. That I got gold, so now I wanted platinum. Either that or thoughts of her sent me temporarily insane. 

'Will you marry me?'

My heart actually stops as I hear myself say that. Whoa, whoa whoa. I hadn't meant that. I really hadn't meant to say that. Now I've blown it. I've just got her to agree to live with me, and now I've got to go and ruin it all by asking that dumb question. I have gone mad. Shoot me now.

'Yes.' She whispers without the slightest hesitation.

The thing I love most about this girl? She always surprises me. you can think you know her so well then she says something that completely makes you reassess her.

And then I can't think anymore because Sara's showing off how multi skilled she is.


	2. home

This is a sequel to "Arguing" W/S. Some of this won't make much sense if you haven't read the other one.

Usual disclaimer applies.

I love Warrick. It's about the only constant in my life right now. That I love him. Good job really, because otherwise I think I would have to kill him. We've been house hunting _all_ day. I'm hot, I'm tired, and I think I've got a blister from my new sneakers. This is about the millionth place we've looked at, and once again, Warrick has found something to fault it on. Looks all right to me. It's two story, two bedroom, lounge, kitchen, diner. It's even got this small spare room we could turn into a study. I mean, it's even got a freaking garden. But oh no, it's not good enough for Warrick. Whoever said I was fussy never met Warrick. Or went house hunting with him.

The problem with this house, something to do with the security. Now I like my security. I see enough dead people to appreciate what a good bolt lock and a house alarm can do. But there gets a point that everyone has to accept that you can't live in Fort Knox. I've already tried to tell him we can fit an alarm. But apparently I wasn't getting the bigger picture. It's near a main road. There's no fence around the front yard. The front door's flimsy. And the master bedroom has a balcony. I like the balcony. I was having visions of long summer evenings spent sitting out in it. But my romantically challenged other half was thinking more along the lines of burglars using it.

I swear, if he doesn't get a move on and just decide on a place I'm going back to my apartment and staying there. Why it has to be a big deal, I don't know. I thought the big step would be agreeing to live together. But it's been a week since that night when I thought I was going to have a heart attack or worse a panic attack in front of him. And we still haven't decided on a place to live.

I start walking backwards, inch by inch, trying to get to the front door. Warrick is engrossed in a conversation about crime stats with the realtor, and I'm hoping if I move stealthily enough, I can make it out without either noticing I'm gone. Not like I've had much impact so far. I've liked all of them well enough. I mean, they're just houses. Or in one case an apartment. They've all got walls and doors and ceilings. And yes, some did have some visually entertaining problems with them, but if there's one thing I can do it's wield a paintbrush with the best of them. Even if I can just get to the front door and open it, it would be a start. Just to let some air in.

According to Warrick it has to be perfect. It has to have…something. When I asked him to quantify the something he got huffy and refused to answer. It was a perfectly innocent question, I thought.

I don't get it! I don't get what the something is. A place is just a place is just a place. At the end of the day what difference does it make as long as we've got a place to go to, to call our own? He said I was being difficult. Well this is difficult! The whole engagement slash living together thing that had seemed like such a good thing a week ago was slowly wearing me down. I want to be with him. I don't want this hassle though. A flash of light catches my eye as I reach over for the doorhandle. I'll give him his dues. Considering he hadn't planned on asking me to marry him, he certainly produced the most beautiful ring within twenty-four hours. It's a small, understated diamond set in white gold. It's absolutely gorgeous. Why can't finding somewhere to live be as easy?

I really need to sit down. We came straight out after work, and I haven't slept in like forever. It's way too hot and stuffy in this place. And I'm starting to get black spots dancing across my vision which is not usually a good sign. Well, at least if I faint, I'll have an excuse to go home.

Warrick decides to look up at me then, and I feel guilty, standing there with the door open about to escape this nightmare. All I wanted was some air. But he surprises me because he doesn't look angry. He's got this thoughtful look on his face. He says something to the realtor, who nods, and then he strides over to me. 'You don't like this place, either, admit it.' He says. I'm just grateful for the fact that we are finally outside where at least there's a slight breeze blowing. 'Are you ok? You look a little pale.' He adds. Now he gets concerned.

'Fine. Just a little stuffy in there.'

'No kidding.'

For a moment we walk in silence, until we reach the car and are safely installed inside, air con on max. Instead of starting to drive, though, Warrick turns to me, regarding me with this serious look on his face. Uh oh. I think I'm in trouble. 'I know we've looked at a lot of places. And that some of them were ok. That we could have lived there.'

I go to say something but he doesn't let me, forging on, taking hold of my hand and twisting the ring slightly between finger and thumb. He's looking at it, now, rather than at me. 'I just want somewhere perfect, somewhere that's us. I don't just want a house, I want a home.' He says, finally looking back up at me, studying my reaction.

For a moment I don't say anything, as I reach up to cup his chin. 'It's not about the house. Wherever we live we can make home. It doesn't have to be perfect. As long as we're together, what does it matter whether the security is right, or if the second bedroom's a bit small.'

Now he goes to say something, but I carry on. I don't find this kind of talk easy. Romantic, couple talk. Being open and honest is going against my nature. But with him, everything that I used to be scared of doesn't seem valid anymore. I know he won't laugh at me, or shout at me for having an opinion. I know he'll always listen. And even if we don't agree the majority of the time, at least we've got an honest relationship. The arguing just keeps it healthy. (That's one way to justify them, anyway)

'I've moved around a lot. In the last six years I've stayed in at least three different flats. Even when I was a kid, the B and B never seemed like home, was never ours; there was always strangers around, or people barging in on us. This place doesn't have to be everything. It can't be. It's not the place that makes it a home, it's what we do with it. We make it home. That's what I think, anyway.' I finish, beginning to feel a blush creep up.

Warrick seems stunned for a moment. It's just starting to annoy me when he turns sharply, firing up the engine. 'You're right.' He murmurs, taking one of my hands and kissing it. 'You're absolutely right.'

I look at him for a second, feeling doubtful. 'I am?'

'I've been focusing too much on the wheres and the hows. I forgot about the why.'

'Okay.' I say slowly, jolted back in my seat slightly as he pulls out into traffic. He drives like he normally does, like a boyracer, but for once I don't demand him to stop and let me drive, because I'm too curious as to where we're going. We're heading in the direction of Warrick's old neighbourhood, towards his Gran's place. The most scary lady I've ever met, or so I thought the first time we met. I've never seen Warrick behave like he does in front of her. He has a respect and a deep love for that woman. And I can see why. They have this easy co-existence when they're together. It's so relaxed, and calm and loving when we're round there. I love going there. Just not when we're in the middle of trying to find a place to live, and I'm also dying to go to bed.

'Warrick, where are we going?' I finally asked, unable to keep patient any longer.

'You'll see.' He answers mysteriously, turning to flash a boyishly excited grin at me. I suddenly get a bad feeling in my stomach. It's like he's lost a few years and a few brain cells. I start to worry what plan he has up his sleeve.

He finally pulls to an abrupt stop at the end of a long street. The houses are all detached, the neighbourhood quiet in the morning daytime. Some of the front yards are a little overgrown. Some of the paint work needs to be done. But each house has it's own quiet existence, it's own identity. They're each a little different from the others. Some have porches. Some are single story. They're every colour of the rainbow. Some have carports, some garages. Warrick jumps out and I reluctantly follow, still unsure what's going on.

He grabs my hand and pulls me up the driveway of a two story redbrick house with white trim. The yard looks like it hasn't been tended in a while. The stairs leading up to the front door, stoop a little as we walk up them. But even as we walk I get this uncharacteristic excited flutter in the pit of my stomach. The house is empty, that much is obvious. The screens broken, hanging off one hinge, and out of nowhere it seems, Warrick produces a key for the door. Before I can ask he's got the door open, and we step into the cool silence.

And suddenly I understand what that something is. I can't put a name on it. I can't describe it even really. All I know is stepping into the front room, the house felt right. I knew we had found our home.

Warrick turned to me, a slight frown on his face. 'I know it's not much.'

I interrupt before he can carry on. 'I get it now.' I tell him, walking further into the house. It's a mess. The walls are falling down in places. The floors been uprooted and not laid properly. The windows are so filthy that even the strong sunlight can't seem to get through much. But I could see it. I could picture it. It's a bit like finally understanding how a crime went down. When finally you can just picture it in your mind exactly what happened. Standing there, looking at the room, I could see us, I could see Warrick and me there. The room had it's own zen like quality. It was so calm, so placid. So peaceful. It felt like it was patiently waiting for the next family to fill it, for noise and laughter and action to fill it's rooms once again. In the last few years I've always rented furnished apartments but the prospect of going furniture shopping, or finding decorations to match the house filled me with sudden energy.

I turn to him, to find him watching me, a weird little smile on his face. 'This is it.' He said.

'This is it.' I echo with what I know is a broad grin on my face.

'I've had the key for two days, but it was such a mess I didn't think…' He trailed off, looking all around and I knew he could see it to. 'It's gonna be a lot of work.' He said.

'It'll be fun. Can we afford it?'

'Yes.'

I closed my eyes, seeing the room, decorated, plain simple designs, sparse furniture. A fire place. Photos. Loads of photos. I feel his hands on my waist, but I don't bother opening my eyes, just lean towards him, accepting the kiss.

'Welcome home.' He whispers, as he drags me off to show me the rest of the house. Or namely how big the master bedroom is. 'Can't you just picture our children here?' He adds as we stand in the doorway.

I turn to give him an abrupt stare.

'Wow, look at the back yard.' He says quickly, striding over to the grubby window.

Children. Yikes. Who said anything about children? Ever. 

Warrick looks at me from the window, decides to stride back towards me, taking me by the hand. 'We've got a lifetime together.' He reminds me.

Yeah. But no one mentioned children anywhere in that future.

The only response I got from Warrick was a laugh when I said that.

'I got you to agree to marry me.' He whispered in my ear. And as he kisses me long and deep and full of promises my mind blanks the issue. I don't care what happens in the future as long as it involves more of this.

TBC?


	3. building site

Building up and Building out.

W/S of course!

This is turning into quite the series!

The house is little more than a building site at the moment. Why we decided it was a good idea to do it up ourselves, I don't know. I've just finished plastering the ceiling, and it actually looks like a ceiling. The walls are barely standing, and the kitchen has no running water or gas supply, but ladies and gentlemen, we have a ceiling. Three cheers for me, and I'm off to have a cold beer.

It's hard not to feel proud of what we've managed to do in…oh six weeks. After all, it has a ceiling. And no, that's not all we've managed. Sara's in the next room, in what will eventually be a study, banging something that sounds scarily like the whole house about to fall down. 

We've managed to pretty much make the upstairs liveable. We don't actually have a bed, yet, but we have a room with four walls, that's even got curtains hanging at the window. The second room, the spare bedroom also has four walls, and a ceiling, and nets at the window, and it's purple. It's empty, but it's a start.

There's a loud curse next door, followed by a loud crash that sees my beer bottle on the floor, and me running. It seems my fears about the house falling down have been founded as the floor has more ceiling on it than the actual ceiling. Sara is standing on the top of the step ladder, covered in plaster dust, chunks of plaster board decorating her hair, a furious look on her face as she looks through the rather large hole in the ceiling.

She sees me standing in the doorway and throws the plasterer to the floor, sending up another huge cloud of dust. 'I hate this house!' She growls. 'I hate this stupid house that is falling down around our ears. I hate plaster board, and plaster, and paint, and any other stupid thing you need to put up a ceiling that won't even stay up when you put it up.'

I can't help it, in the middle of her rant, I start laughing.

Rule number one on the rules of living with Sara. Never, ever interrupt a rant with a laugh. Or more general, just don't laugh at her.

She gives me this look. You know the one. Eyes focused on you, about half the size they usually are, a frown the size of Everest on her face. The one that should have stopped me laughing dead, and made me all remorseful and apologetic. It didn't. In fact, it made me laugh more. Which is a bad thing.

The look Sara gave me could have frozen fire. In hell. 

Unfortunately, the laughs had taken on a life of their own and not even Sara's look could have stopped it then. I walked forward, trying hard to sober up a little, knowing otherwise the mattress would be very cold tonight. I stopped at the base of the ladder, looking up at the hole now residing in this ceiling, seeing right through to the second bedroom above. I thought about asking how she'd managed to put a hole through both sets of plaster board, but thought better of it. I shifted my look to Sara, and smiled.

'It's got a hole in it.' Sara said flatly. I could hear the catch in her voice.

'It doesn't matter. Most of the house has got a hole in it.' I pointed out to her.

'This isn't how it's supposed to be!' She said, looking frustrated as she looked up at the hole again. 'We're supposed to get it all looking like we want it to, not giving ourselves more work.'

Sara doesn't get worked up about many things. But it's been a long six weeks, and considering we're still sleeping on a mattress, and don't have electricity yet, and only just have some (cold) running water, it's hard to keep optimistic. I reached up to her, pulling a chunk of board from her hair, throwing it into the heap on the floor. My hand lingered at her face, as I waited for her to look back at me. 'It will get done. It's just gonna take a while.' I tell her.

She smiles slightly.

'And when it's finished, it's going to be perfect, and we can look back and say we did this.' I finish, reaching up to brush my lips against hers.

'And you taste of plaster.' I add.

'It's my new look.' She jokes, as she slides forward on the ladder, and I help lower her to the floor. She stoops slightly when her feet touch (relatively) solid ground, and before I know what's hit me, I'm surrounded in a cloud of plaster dust. When the dust clears Sara's grinning at me. 'His and hers.' She explains.

'Oh, you so didn't just do that, Sidle.' I tell her.

She just grins more.

I stoop, pick up a pile of the dust and throw it in her direction. She ducks, and runs, heading for the lounge, the sound of her laughter following her. I follow, the room seemingly empty until I felt something wet hit me from the side and realise I've just been hit with a bucket of water.

With water dripping over my nose, I search her out, following the sound of her retreating laughter. I stop once, before stalking around the lounge, into what will be the kitchen when we get round to it. I find her standing in the middle of the room, next to the old breakfast bar, looking deceptively innocent. My hands are empty and I see her relax.

'So, where are we going for dinner?' She asks casual as you like.

I wander forward to her as I shrug. 'What do you fancy?' I ask, coming to a stop in front of her.

She shrugs as well. Eating out, or eating takeaway as we've done for six weeks gets fairly old fairly quickly. We're struggling to come up with places, and this is Vegas. I lift my hands, cupping her face. 'Do you know how beautiful you are?' I tell her honestly as I slide my hands down slightly, trailing in it's wake blue paint that I was painting the front door with.

She scrunches up her face. 'Your hands are all sticky.' She tells me, reaching up running a finger through the paint on her face.

The look on her face is priceless, as she reaches behind her, and soon her hands are on me, and I remember the paint tin on the breakfast bar in purple that the second bedroom was painted in just as her hands come to land on my hair, sliding down my face, cupping my face in them. I suddenly know the meaning of great minds think alike. It also counts for devious minds, apparently.

Her hands, though, don't stop at my face. And soon much of my upper body is also purple, as she kisses me long and deep, leaving me breathless. She steps away, assessing the damage, a smirk on her face. She goes to leave, but the kiss has given me ideas and she doesn't manage a step before I grab her, crushing her to me, the kiss I hope leaving her breathless, not that I leave her much time to say or not.

We haven't done it in the kitchen yet, but that's soon rectified, and there's nothing quite like doing it in a pile of dust. On a breakfast bar that creeks as if it's about to collapse in on itself.

As we lie there afterward, all surrounded in dust, and paint and goodness knows what, both severely out of breath I remember why we are doing all this work. So I can be with her. It's as simple as that. She looks so beautiful laying there, this gorgeous smile on her face.

The phone went before I could tell her this. Sara untangles herself and grabs my shirt for some reason as she goes to hunt it out in all the dust. I just lie there, because I know who it's going to be, and I know what's going to happen.

'Sorry, Warrick, I've got to go.' She tells me from the doorway, still looking gorgeous.

I stay downstairs as she goes to have a cold shower, gets dressed, trying not to think that this was meant to be our weekend off together. She leaves with a single brief kiss before I slowly get dressed, going to start the ceiling Sara pretty much demolished.

I know work just called again.


	4. alone in the darkness

Arguing. (4/?)

A.N. Thank you for all the reviews so far, they've been very helpful in motivating me to write more. There will be more soon, I promise!

This was it, this was the moment of truth. Warrick found himself holding his breath as he stared at the final piece of the circuit. His finger on the switch, he stared around the room. It was two in the morning, the only light in the room a torch he held in his other hand and the streetlights outside. Finally, after seven long weeks, this was the make or break time to get the electricity working in the house. Warrick had had to rewire everything. The original wiring was more than just a health hazard it was so old. It had taken him a full week, but finally it came down to this one switch. He focused in on where he knew the central light bulb for the kitchen was, which he could see through the open door. He was standing at the electricity panel under the stairs, where he had been most of the night doing the final run through of the wiring.

He paused only once, to listen to the silence, to reflect that he shouldn't be doing this alone. For the seventh night in a row, Sara was at work. Their two weeks of annual leave together to make a dent in all the work at the house had started off with Sara working all hours on some case that had come up. One phone call from Grissom, and he hadn't seen more than a few minutes of her since.

Of course he'd put the time to good use. When he had got too frustrated with the wiring he had managed to finish all the masonry work needed downstairs which meant every room had four walls and a ceiling. All the windows were now properly secured in place, cleaned so that light was no longer filtered through endless levels of dust. Three of the rooms even had proper floors down now instead of plasterboard masquerading as wooden flooring.

But all his achievements felt hollow. This was meant to be a joint project, their home. Sara, when she had deigned to come home, had commented enthusiastically about all the changes before rushing out once more. The site of her leaving was becoming more frustrating than wiring a junction point for fifty separate sites.

She had phoned that evening to say she'd be home and would bring dinner with her. He'd set up a small table he'd had since he left home, cleaned enough of the dust to make the small dining room off the kitchen usable, blunting the effect with candles all around.

The candles had melted long ago, plunging the room in darkness. The dust had seemed to settle in the last few hours again as Warrick had sat on one of the large cushions he'd put down for them to use and waited. That had been seven hours ago.

He'd finally had to do something, had fiddled with the wiring more, finding the complexity challenging then, putting his mind to better use than wondering if it was always going to be like this. Could he marry a woman who was clearly already married to her job? He'd known what Sara was like before, of course he had. He loved the job, was always willing to work the longer hours to see a perp put to justice. But there was a line between work and life that he had drawn long ago, that Sara didn't mind crossing whenever and wherever. He thought it would be different if they were living together. He couldn't believe how wrong he had been.

He finally reigned his thoughts back in and without anymore pre-emptive hit the switch, feeling the irony as the lights came on the house that had been in the dark ages for the last goodness knows how many years.

'Congratulations to me.' He muttered with little feeling as he stepped out of the cupboard, closing the door firmly, staring at the house bathed in artificial light. It looked in a worse state if that was possible than it did in the grimy light of day. He chuckled mirthlessly. Congratulations indeed.

The front door banged open, and Sara, hair swept back in a lopsided ponytail, day old clothes on swept in, looking at the lights in surprise.

'Wow!' she said, grinning at him across the room. 'Great, we have 'leccy at last.'

'Yeah.' Warrick said, stooping to pack up the tools he'd been using into their case.

'Sorry about dinner.' Sara's muffled voice followed her through as she kicked off her shoes and crossed to the stairs, going to dump her bags. 'Had something to finish up.'

'Oh.' Was all Warrick had to say. He could think of a lot more he wanted to say, but held his tongue, determined not to get into another argument.

'Still, looks like you've been busy yourself.' She carried on as she came back down the stairs.

'You could have called.' Warrick said mildly, stacking the box of tools in the corner of the empty lounge.

'I was busy. Still, I didn't think you'd mind, you know how it is.' She told him, crossing through into the kitchen. Warrick followed, watching as she poured herself a glass of water from a bottle stood on side next to the sink.

'Well I did mind.' Warrick said before he could stop himself.

Sara looked up, surprised by the tone.

'I was expecting you home seven hours ago.' Warrick said, the tone of his voice darkening as he spoke.

Sara's eyes narrowed slightly at his tone. 'I was busy.' She told him, unapologetically.

'You could have called and told me.' Warrick told her.

'What do you want from me?' Sara challenged.

At the tone, Warrick lost any control of his temper. 'I want you to care! I want you to care as much about our relationship as you do about your job'

Sara looked even more shocked at the sudden change of direction the conversation had taken. 'I do care.' She told him.

'Well you have a funny way of showing it! You work overtime on overtime, you're never home, you cancel anything if Grissom calls.'

'Is that what this is about, Grissom?' Sara asked, her own temper rising at the accusations.

'No. It's about us. About our so-called relationship.'

'What do you want me to say?' Sara asked.

'I don't want you to say anything'

'I love you Warrick' She tried.

Warrick wasn't having it though. He'd had enough. 'Do you? Do you really? Because at the moment I'm having a little trouble believing it. I go to bed, and wake up alone. I see you more on shift than I do off. I have to arrange to meet you if I want to see you. I have to arrange anytime we seem to see each other. I'm tired of having to put in all the effort and to still be left in the dark, on my own. I'm tired of our relationship playing second fiddle to your career. It's not fair, and I don't know if I can do it anymore.'

'You knew who I was before you got into this relationship. You knew how dedicated I was to my job before any of this happened' 

'So I'm not as important?'

'I never said that.'

'Well that's what it sounded like. That I'm not worth to you what your career is.'

'You're putting words in my mouth.' She accused.

'Am I?' He asked.

'You knew who I was. You said you loved me. Was that a lie? Because if you loved me, you would love all of me.'

'That's not fair Sara. I love you. Why can't you see that that's why I want to see you occasionally?'

'You see me now.'

'Yeah at work. If we happen to be on the same case. Or if we happen to see each other in the halls. Oh and maybe, just maybe, if I'm lucky enough you'll rush past as the rest of us are going home.'

'What do you want from me Warrick?'

'I don't know. What am I worth to you?'

'How dare you! Just because maybe I get a little busy at work, it doesn't mean I stop thinking about you, or wanting to be with you.'

'That's not good enough, Sara.'

'What are you saying?'

'I'm saying…I'm saying that something has to change. Something has to give. And at the moment it's me. I can't carry on in this one-sided relationship.' Even as he was saying them, he couldn't believe the words were coming out of his mouth. But even if his brain wasn't engaged, his heart was.

'It's…over?' Sara finally asked.

'That's your decision to make'

'You want me to choose between you and being a CSI?'

'No. I want you to choose if you still want to be in this relationship, whether you can put as much energy and focus into is as you do a case. I want you to make the effort for a change.'

Sara didn't have an immediate come back to that. The argument had come out of left field for her, wasn't something she'd considered. Which was what was making Warrick even angrier, that she didn't get it, didn't understand where he was coming from. He tried again, the tone to his voice a little more reasonable.

'Why can't you commit to this, to us, like you commit to a case at work? Why is work so much easier than us? What are you so scared of?'

'Oh I don't know, that you'll leave me. Or cheat on me. Or any of the other hundred ways that I get hurt in this.' She accused.

'I'm not that guy, Sara; I thought you'd know that by now. If you can't trust me by now, then what kind of relationship is this?'

'You tell me, you're the one that seems to want to define it so badly.' She accused.

Warrick was about to retaliate, but instead took a breath. It was late, and neither of them were thinking straight. All he knew, at that moment, he didn't want to be in this house anymore. 'I think we both need some time to think. I'm gonna…go.'

'You're leaving?' She asked, panic suddenly flaring in her eyes.

Warrick caught the warning sign but he'd had enough. He just needed to get out. 'We need a break, Sare. I need a break.'

Without a backward glance he crossed the room, picking up only his wallet and keys before getting away from the house. Sara flinched as the front door slammed behind him.


	5. digging my own grave

Arguing (5)

Ria

A.N. Song: All You Want by Dido from the No Angel album, marked 

My first attempt at a song fic, so please forgive me and I'll never try it again!

I'd like to watch you sleep at night, to hear you breathe by my side / and although sleep leaves me behind, there's nowhere I'd rather be

She could trace every small dent in the ceiling. Knew every sound the empty house made. The muffled noise of the water heater, the sound of the air conditioning unit kicking in, the distant creak of an old house settling. The room was filled with early morning sun, the curtains pulled back to let the light bathe the room. It reflected off white walls, the white bed linen. Off her hair and face.

She was lying waiting. For a phone to ring. For her pager to go off. Knowing that they wouldn't because for the first time in as long as she could remember she had turned both of them off.

She was waiting for a car in the driveway. A knock at the door. Her heart to leap, and her stomach to instantly contract as she knew in that one moment he was here.

She spread an arm across the crisp cold sheet, sliding it seamlessly over empty sheets, touching the unused pillow. She rolled onto her side, inhaling slightly to get the faint scent of him there. Light bounced off the single ring on her hand, echoing around the empty room. She turned her hand over, blocking the prism of light.

She closed her eyes, imaging him now. The feel of his hair as she wrapped her fingers in it. The feel of his skin against hers. The feel of his warm breath against her cheek. She could hear his slight breathing, the occasional soft snore. The sound of the bed creaking as he shifted slightly in sleep, his arms tightening around her, pulling her closer. She snuggled into the pillow, into him now, wanting more than ever to just have his arms around her again. Feeling empty, alone, out of her depth. Wondering where her safety net had gone.

and now our bed is oh so cold, my hands feel empty, no one to hold / I can sleep what side I want, it's not the same with you gone / oh if you'd come home, I'll let you know that / all you want is right here in this room, all you want / and all you need, is sitting here with you, all you want

He stared up at the house. Stared up at their home. He could picture their bedroom. The morning sun reflecting off white walls and white sheets. Her, lying in bed, wrapped around him, his arms tight against her. Not willing to let go. The feel of her soft skin pressed so close to his, the echo of her heart beat with his, the soft breath exhaling against his chest. Her hair ticklish against his chest as she moved slightly, closer to him, into him. 

He could hear the soft laughter as they talked into the night. Could hear the sounds of ecstasy, the sounds of angry voices, the creak of the bed, the sound of a glass splintering against the wall.

His skin began to crawl, like a million bugs had laid eggs and suddenly hatched all at once. The distant murmur of their voices was replaced with the sounds of excitement, shrieks of delight, the clanging of bells, the sounds of another winner. Another loser. He could feel within his crawling skin the tingling excitement of chips being laid on plush green table, of watching cards being dealt, or waiting for just the right moment to lay the royal flush down smartly on the table, feel his heart hammering in his chest, as the chips were pushed towards him. The other players despondent as he hid his excitement to deal in another game. Because if he could win once, he could win again. And one loss didn't mean a thing. To lose a few chips. To watch the cards being dealt again. To feel that contraction of the heart, the butterflies start dancing in the stomach, as each card was revealed.

To feel the sickness as another pile of cards hit the dust. To look at the dealer with that signal, to start all over again, because it had to be this time. Or this time. Or this time…

He looked up, alerted suddenly to the door opening. She stood framed in the doorway, her face perfectly blank, like a smooth canvas someone had forgotten to put the detail into. A perfect poker face. To all except him, anyway. He knew her. He knew her face, her knew her look, he knew her emotions. She looked for another moment before stepping back into the shadows of the house, leaving the door open. A sign? He didn't want a sign.

Royal Flush on the first hand. It was his night.

He reluctantly stepped towards the house, fighting the feeling of nausea, the clamp tight on his stomach, on his heart.

It's been three years, one night apart, but in that night, you tore my heart / if only you had slept alone, if those seeds had not been sown / oh you could come home, and you would know that / all you want is right here in this room, all you want / all you need is sitting here with you, all you want

She is sat at the breakfast bar, stirring a cup of coffee. The movement is agitated; it's black coffee, no additives. She doesn't look up at him, doesn't acknowledge his presence in this room. She's thinking about that morning, about waking up alone. Or about last night and the words said in anger, meant to hurt, meant to wound. A dagger to each of their respective hearts. Her responding with stoic silence before the tears fell. Him by leaving. By going back to the safety of the casino. Of the feel good factor of that maybe win. Sinking back into the counting of cards to stop the thoughts of their demolished relationship.

She knew where he'd been. It hadn't taken long to figure out. One phone call and she had heard the familiar sound of the one armed bandits playing their three note song.

She'd hung up without a word.

Cried harder.

He'd turned round to play one more hand. Just one more. There never was just one more.

They stood in the silence of the kitchen. The four walls closing in on them. The silence pressing on both of them so much that one of them had to say something, had to break it. Break it before it became all consuming.

'Did you win?' She finally asked in a flat voice.

Warrick didn't want to answer that. He could hear the disappointment in her voice.

'No.' He finally whispered.

'Oh. Is that why you came back?'

'No.' he repeated, more forcefully this time.

'Did you have fun?'

Yes. Yes, he'd had fun. The building excitement, trying to judge other peoples reactions, trying to keep account of fifty two cards, four suits, so many ways to win.

'Did you have fun?' She asked again, her voice strained slightly as she tried to hold back on anything that might be construed as emotion.

Stepping back into that environment. Hearing the three note jangle, hearing coins drop into steel trays being collected by eager hands.

She was on her feet now, staring him down, her eyes flashing with anger. 'Did you have fun?' She hissed.

'I made a mistake, Sare.'

'That's not what I want to know.' She spat back. 'Did you enjoy yourself. Sitting there in that casino? Did you enjoy the excitement of making bets, watching the cards, winning, or losing and maybe just winning next time. Did. You. Have. Fun?'

'I'm sorry, Sara. I…I…it was a mistake.'

'What, you made a wrong turning and ended up on the strip and needed to ask directions? Or maybe…or maybe you had a little amnesia. Or maybe you thought you were owed some money still.' The sarcasm dripping from her tone felt like poison to his stomach.

'I wasn't going to stay. I was just going to play one game. Just to feel better. I never meant to stay. I didn't want to stay.'

'Someone tied you to the blackjack seat?' She suggested. 'It's never just one more game with you, Warrick. It's never just one.'

'I know that, Sara.' He was yelling now, he didn't need his mistakes pushed onto him. 'Don't you think I know that?' he whispered. 'I know I have an addiction.'

'So why the hell did you go there? Of all the places, why the hell did you have to go there?'

'I didn't know where else to go.'

'Anywhere! Anywhere, but there. Surely Warrick after all this time…' She trailed off. 'After all this time why didn't you just stop and think?' She finished.

'I wasn't thinking, Sara. I just wanted to feel better. I know it's not an excuse, but it's the truth.'

'So one argument, one argument and you go running back there? You stood there and accused me of being more committed to work than our relationship, when at the first sign of trouble you go running back there.'

'It wasn't like that.' He said angrily.

'Oh, what was it like?'

'It's not the same. I haven't been in a casino for years. And I make one mistake and you jump down my throat.'

She stood silent for a moment, regarding him with hateful eyes.

'It was one mistake, Sara. One mistake.' He said, hearing the pleading quality of his voice even before he spoke.

I hear your key turning in the door, I won't be hearing that sound anymore / and you and your sin, can leave the way you just came in, send my regards to her / I hope you've found that / all you want, is right there in that room, all you want / all you need is sitting there with you, all you want

'That's not good enough, Warrick. You promised you wouldn't do it again. You promised that it was over.'

'It is, it is over. It's just not that easy.'

'Then make it that easy! You said that if I loved you, I would be able to commit to you. And then you go out and do this, and you wonder why I have trouble committing to any relationship. At least dead people never lied to me. If you loved me, you would never have done this. It would have been that easy.'

'It's not like that, Sara and you know that. I love you. I've never stopped loving you, or wanting to be with you, and one mistake doesn't have to be the end of it. One mistake doesn't change the fact that I want to be here with you.'

'But you chose to be there instead. You could have come home and we could have talked about it. I turned down Grissom so that we could talk. But you chose to go there instead. You stayed there because it was easier to go there than come and be with me. That was your choice, Warrick.'

'I didn't think, Sara.' He tried, desperate now. Desperate to stop the look in the eye, to stop the words stabbing into his heart. 'We can work this out.'

'Can we?' She whispered, the hurt doubling at her tone. 'Can we?'

I'd like to watch you sleep, to hear you breathe by my side


	6. safe in my own skin?

Arguing part six

A.N. oh the angst, the angst. I promise it'll be over with soon. Just this and the epilogue. Too much angst. Gotta go lie down.

Thanks for anyone that's reviewed, it means a lot.

I don't understand why I feel this way. Why I can love someone, but at the same time feel so uneasy about being with them. I know the argument was my fault. I know I was working too much. Hell, even when I first came to Vegas I never worked seven nights in a row.

I don't understand why everything has thrown me so much. I've never doubted that I love him. It never even crossed my mind. But everything happened in such a rush. Or it seemed to. One moment we were enjoying just being with each other, enjoying our relationship, when suddenly we're engaged, we're living together in a bomb site for a house…everything changed at once.

Do I regret it? When he asked me, I knew it was the right decision. In a year or two, anyway. It happened then. It happened so quickly my feet barely touched the ground.

I miss having somewhere solid to go home to. I miss my apartment. And as I stand, in the empty space of it now, a strong pull to go home, to come back here beckons me. I know Warrick would find it hard to deal with the fact that I've still got my apartment. That I still kept it, even after we moved in together. That on the days when I can't face the building work, I go there to sleep.

I know he probably won't forgive me if I tell him. That's why I felt the need to yell at him so much about the casino. Guilt does strange things to a person. Warrick is the strongest person I know. He stayed out of the gambling arena cold turkey for three years. Not many people give up cold turkey like that. And I'm proud of him. One mistake doesn't erase that. It's just that, a mistake. I could see in his face that he regretted his decision.

Did I tell him that?

Um…no?

I couldn't, I didn't have the words to. It was easier to be angry, to yell, than to admit that whilst he'd returned to his bit of safety just that once, I had regularly visited mine whenever the going got too tough. See, I'm meant to be this strong woman. I'm not. I'm a coward.

I hate the crumbly walls. I hate wondering at night whether the ceiling is going to fall down. I hate cold showers and candlelight and having to charge my cell at work.

I hate not having stability. That's it. I moved to Vegas in a heartbeat, but the first thing I did was rent an apartment, put all my stuff down, make roots. I'm a home girl, definitely. Makes life easier to deal with when you know where you're coming home to. Or what you're coming home to.

Have I ever doubted that Warrick loves me? Does all the time answer that? And I feel bad when I do. But it's there. The doubt.

No, that's not right.

I don't doubt that he loves me. I know he loves me. I doubt…I doubt that he'll be there when I come home. I doubt that he'll come home at night. I doubt that we'll be together forever.

I doubt that he'll always want to be with me.

I doubt that I'll always be here with him.

I have a lot of doubt.

Should it feel weird that I'm talking to myself out loud now?

See, I haven't seen Warrick in three days. Which is about the longest we haven't seen each other in months. A year, even.

And a part of me, my heart, mostly, is crying out loud for him. Even now, I can't see most of the apartment because like they have done for the past three days, the tears come suddenly to my eyes.

I've never felt like this before. I'm standing in the apartment, in my apartment, but I feel worse. I feel bad. I feel unstable, and insecure and all the other emotions that I hate and were the reasons for my leaving in the first place.

I'm standing in the apartment but it feels wrong.

Of course I know why. I just don't want to admit it, even here, even alone in my space. I don't want to admit that to feel at home now, I need him there. Because to do so would be the very opposite of what I've strived for, for so long. Independence…not needing someone else. The laugh comes out harsh. Yeah right.

I. Need. Him. I've already admitted I'm a coward, and now I've admitted that.

I need him.

Now, how do I tell someone else that? How do I tell him that?

Is this what love is? The destroyer of independence, the need to be with someone to feel whole again? That heart wrenching fear of being alone. That gut turning need deep inside that squirms away at the thought of not being held by him again?

My frustrated sigh sounds hollow as it echoes in the empty apartment, making it sound bigger than it is.

And then there's a knock at the door that makes me jump so far I almost knock my head against the ceiling.

I whirl round, stare at the door as if by magic I could suddenly have x-ray vision and see who was there. It could be anyone. The Kleeneze woman. A door to door collector of money for some worthwhile cause. A wrong door.

But I know who it is. And I don't want to answer. Because then he'll know. Then he'll know that I lied to him, and that I'm a bad person and that I'm a coward.

And I don't want him to see that.

The knock comes again. Measured. Precise. Two knocks. And suddenly my heart pushes my head aside and moves my legs, making me walk towards the door, making me take the short walk even as my head makes a continuous moan of the word no.

He takes me in, in a glance. Making me feel naked and vulnerable in a single gaze. I expect anger. I don't get it. Which scares me more. Anger I can deal with. I can do. Anger is what he expects from me.

His look is a strange mirror of mine though. Scared. Lonely. Needing.

I never thought of him as needy before.

He steps in as I back away into some space, confused by him, by his emotion.

He glances around the furnished but mostly empty apartment. There's a single coffee mug on the table. A bunch of tissues in the wastebasket. My cell charging on the counter.

Then he looks at me, and I get the impression that he is speechless. That he doesn't know the words, the script, what's meant to happen now, or be said now.

Welcome to the club; my head is still stuck in denial land.

The silence extends, but I don't break the look. I might not have the words, but I search his look, knowing he's searching me. Silence is a scary thing. People move to fill it. I feel so jumpy I do it now.

'I kept this place.' I say.

He looks surprised that I spoke aloud. Then chuckles. The sound warm in the coldness that extends between us. 'Yeah, I can see that.' His look turns serious again as he glances around, his look coming to rest on me.

'I…I didn't know how to give it up.' I try.

His look is…well it's hard to explain. I know what it's not. I screamed at him for going to a casino. He just stands there patiently waiting for an explanation that I kept my apartment.

'I feel safe here.' I say lamely. Or it feels lame. It sends a spark of hurt through his eyes that almost make me flinch.

'I kept thinking the ceiling was going to fall down as we slept.' I try to explain.

He's still silent, waiting. And I know that now would be a good time to admit what's in my heart. Love is about being honest. And until this moment, (and yes, even with the apartment still in my name) I thought our relationship had honesty.

It kind of helps if I'd been honest, though, wouldn't it?

I want to now. I know it's the only way back from this dark place I'm currently residing in alone.

'It felt all…different. The house. All the building work. We don't even have a bed!' I know he knows this, but I don't know how to explain how I'm feeling any better. And I know I need for him to understand how I feel. To understand me. It's only fair that he knows.

'I came here.' I said, probably unnecessary. My eyes dart around the apartment as I try to put emotions into words I don't have in my vocab. 'I haven't slept in three days, though. I don't feel safe here anymore. It's got proper doors and windows, hot water, but I don't feel safe anymore!' My voice is getting a little hysterical now, as I try and make sense of my emotions, to try and understand that how I, Sara Sidle, can't feel safe alone anymore.

Warrick takes a single step towards, me, his hands by his sides, his eyes on me. 

I take a breath, force it out.

'It's okay at work. I know what I'm doing.' I start again. 'But it's all changed suddenly, and I don't know where I'm meant to be anymore, and when I'm not with you, I feel so alone, but when I'm there, I don't know what's going to happen anymore, and then…' I take another breath, as he takes another step, listening to me carefully.

'I'm scared.' I finally say aloud, and the relief it brings is so strong, so sudden that it catches my by surprise. I have to say it again to believe that I did say it out loud. 'I'm scared.'

He takes another step, getting into my personal space, soothing my heart's need to have him here with me. He stops, as I look up into his eyes.

'I don't know what's going on anymore, and I don't want to feel like this, and I need you, Warrick, I need you to hold me, to take it all away.' I blab, the tears hot and strong now, as two arms encircle me, holding me tight, holding me close so that I can hear his heartbeat in my ear, so that I can feel him next to me. 'I love you Warrick, why am I so scared of this?' I whisper as I close my eyes, breathe him in, my legs suddenly collapsing under me as I dissolve into sobs.

He lowers me to the floor, sits and holds me, still not speaking, letting his actions soothe me better than words then. I probably wouldn't be able to hear him over the sobbing anyway.

He waits till I'm quiet, before he sits me up slightly, not letting go, just looking at me. 'You probably won't believe that I haven't slept in three days either.' He starts. I see tears shining in his eyes, and feel bad that I'm hurting him. 'And that I'm scared as well. The house doesn't feel like a home at the moment. It's a wreck. And as much as I can talk about what it will be, I still doubt. And I need you. I'm scared of how much I do need you, how much I want you. I thought I'd be ok with how much you work, but I'm not. I want to be with you, it's as simple as that.'

I've never seen him cry before. Didn't really think he'd be capable of it. Too laid back for the gravity to work on the tears.

'We're a right pair, aren't we?' I sniff.

He laughs.

'We can work through this, Sara. I know it's all sudden, but it just feels so right. Ok, the house feels like a bombsite, but being with you, I never doubted that. I never doubted that I love you.'

'I didn't either.' I whisper. 'I'm just scared.'

'And that's ok. Scared we can work on. I'm sorry that I went to a casino.'

I shrug. 'I know you are. I wasn't really angry about that. I'm sorry I kept this place.' I tell him.

'Fancy going shopping?' I look up at him, at the question. We're in the middle of a heart to heart and he wants to go shopping?

'We need a bed.' He tells me, standing up, pulling me up as well. I laugh then, as I nod, a smile on my lips.

He catches me, there in the middle of my old apartment, his arms around my waist one thumb idly slipping through a belt loop of my jeans. 'This is gonna take time, working out how to live together, how to balance it out. But time is on our side. We just have to learn to talk without yelling.' He says with a ghost of a smile. I manage a nod.

'I never want to have to go through three days of torture again.'

'Why are you so good to me?' I wonder aloud.

'It's called love.' He answers simply.


	7. epilogue

Arguing- Epilogue

A.N. This is the end, just to wrap it up on a little bit of a high note. Thanks again to anyone who took the time to review.

For something that was meant to be a one off, it turned out completely different! I don't know if that's a good thing or not- I'll let you be the judge of that!

Ever wondered why, when you want to say something, the words just won't come out? You stand there, the words in your head, staring, but there's a long way between your brain and your mouth, and for some reason the words just won't bridge that gap. Or is it just me?

There is only one cause of my current speechlessness. She's standing two feet away, and I swear I have been struck dumb. The registrar is quietly clearing his throat, probably trying to get our attention, but it's not working that well. She's caught my attention, and my breath, and nothing is currently getting through. I never understood how a smile could be radiant before. I mean, a smile doesn't exactly have a light source. But today, Sara just shines. Her smile, her eyes: Pure radiance.

'Excuse me, Mr Brown?' The registrar finally says in a stage whisper. There are stifled giggles somewhere behind us, as I finally manage to stop staring at my bride and pay attention to actually making her my wife.

I have been waiting for this moment for a long time. I know it's just a piece of paper, a ring on a finger. But for me it's the day I get to show the world how much I love this woman. We've had out ups and downs, (we still have our ups and downs!) but finally, it's all come together.

We're going to be husband and wife. She's going to be Mrs Brown. And yes, that was a long and fruitful argument about changing names. Apparently in this day and age girls don't need to change their names like they once did. Or they could double barrel it. Or why couldn't I change my name if I was so desperate to have the same one? I won that argument. And yes, I know it's not about winning. But this one was. Firstly, Warrick Brown-Sidle, or Warrick Sidle Brown? I don't think so. Firstly, Mr and Mrs Warrick Brown sounds great. And Sara Brown isn't bad. And plus, she gets rid of the whole SAS acronym she's currently got going with her initials. Don't tell her I told you this, but her middle name is Abigail. She can now be SAB.

Add another A and you've got a classy car.

Anyway, that wasn't the only argument this wedding has caused. Apparently getting married by Elvis has never, and will never be, cool. And the drive thru is also not a good idea. If we were going to go through with this damn wedding then we were going to do it properly. Pineapple on sticks and bridesmaids throwing up included.

I was joking about the drive in before you wonder.

All the work, and the fuss, and the little arguments have amounted to this, though, and I wouldn't have had it any other way. Not least because, Sara is absolutely gorgeous, and the dress she has on is making me wonder what underwear she is wearing. Unless that dress is staying up by pure magic. Thank God for the honeymoon sweet at the Empire tonight. I feel a lesson in physics coming on. Or a show and tell anyway.

We've learnt a lot of things in the past few months. That plasterboard needs at least a week to dry or otherwise it sags and falls down. That paint colour is nothing, if you can't agree on the type of couch you're getting. That being together doesn't mean that everything has to be hunky-dory, and you can admit to being scared. That living together, and seeing Sara getting woken up by an alarm is truly scary. That honesty above all else will keep sex, I mean the relationship, fresh. Insulting the forty-niners when they are down two touchdowns will only mean your side of the bed is cold that night.

That as a couple we fit together surprisingly well. But as a couple we can no longer work on the same case together without tantrums ensuing.

And I know getting married isn't going to stop this learning. Another ring, a far bigger commitment together, if anything is going to steepen the climb again. And I could get really soppy about this, but in truth, I can't think much right now. We have a lifetime to work out all the little paths along the way. Who cares, as long as I have Sara, I swear, nothing could stop me.

The I dos are said, the first dance playing, Lindsey, Sara's bridesmaid for the day has just drunk a whole glass of champagne and is rather giggly.

The day couldn't have been more perfect.

Sara couldn't be more perfect.

And now, I get to see what's underneath the dress.

And go someway into convincing Sara that having children has its high points. Not least cause you get to practice at making them first.


End file.
